Obscurum
by coerulus
Summary: Meet Sabrina Grimm: genius, war heroine, and above all, criminal legend. She has yet to fail a mission assigned to her, and even proclaims them 'easy'. But when the supposed dead rise again, and she finds herself in an impossible relationship, the crimina
1. Hal Preston

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SISTERS GRIMM, MICHAEL BUCKLEY DOES.**

 **Warning: This story will contain some mild swearing, some dark themes, character death, and mentions of murder and crime. There will not be any super graphic descriptions of death or gore, but if you are sensitive, too young to be on this site, or easily offended by the aforementioned subjects, this story is not for you. This whole story will be pretty intense (at least, that's the feeling I intend to create), so turn back now if you like reading fluff or lighter subjects more.**

 **Now before most of you get discouraged and mark me down as a morbid writer, I promise you there will be some sweet romance in later chapters, but it won't be very fast. I believe in slow and steady relationship growth, so that's how this AU will play out. There will be lots of twists and turns, happiness and sadness, lightheartedness and tears, the works. I promise you will not be disappointed by the later chapters if you're into that sort of stuff! It was just too good a story to not write down (in my opinion), so without further ado, I present to you my latest story, 'Dark, Darker, Darkest'.**

* * *

 _Bullets of sweat rolled down her neck and her hair slapped at her face as she whirled around in a blur, panic and adrenaline pumping through her veins. The girl wasn't there. She was there just seconds ago, crouching in her armor behind her back. "Stay close to me," she had cautioned, and the girl had promised. So where was she now? Where were the familiar dark brown braids she had grown up with for so many years?_

 _Her breath came in quick, short pants as she tore through the forest with abandon, screaming the girl's name through a hoarse, scratchy voice. A bellow was heard, and she could feel the dragon's searing breath char the ground not twenty feet away from her. She continued shrieking the girl's name, but to no avail._

 _She burst through the clearing, lungs crying out for the taste of the air. The boy was there too, manning the catapult, loaded with a boulder that easily could take out the dragon. And there, flying in the face of death, was the girl. She was gracefully dodging the streams of fire exploding from the dragon's nostrils, and repeatedly blasting its hide with jets of white magic._

 _Manic laughter burst from the boy's lips, almost as if he were enjoying the dangerous game that could end in life or death. Slamming his hand on the red button that fired the catapult, he let out a gleeful shout as it flew towards the brutish monster._

 _Something was wrong though. The angles, the trajectory, the proximity. And somehow, she knew before the rock found its mark that the girl fighting the dragon would die. Soon._

 _"Don't fire!" she screamed, but she was just too late. It was already flying through the air, getting closer and closer to the girl, and she could only watch helplessly as she saw the blue-hot flames engulf her small body and send it plummeting to the ground like a rag doll._

 _It had never felt so horrible to be right._

 _"Sister!" she cried out through her raw, choked throat, running to the girl who lay in a charred crater next to a fallen mass of orange scales. Her neck was jerked to the side in a grotesque manner, and her face was blackened with burns and bloodied. Her dark brown eyes were still wide open, glassy but unable to take in the chaos that surrounded her. She knelt down next to her body, praying in vain that by some fluke, some stroke of luck that she had survived, maybe by magic, maybe by divine intervention. Gently placing her hand on the side of her neck, she felt for any sign of a pulse, but there was nothing._

 _Nothing. Nothing. She was dead. She would brush her hair no more, make up silly words, stuff her face at mealtimes, or be her best friend. The chocolate brown orbs lying in her skull would not dance and sparkle when she looked at them, she would never see her form skip down the stairs for breakfast. Dead._

 _The boy, no longer laughing but ashen faced, had flown down to stand by her body. Before he could speak, the older girl cut him off._

 _"You killed her!" she raged. "I told you not to hit that stupid button, but you did anyways! She's dead! And you know why? It's because you killed her, you killed her thinking that this whole war was just some sort of playground for you and that nobody would get hurt. Well, you're wrong! And because of that, my sister is DEAD."_

 _"I'm sorry," he blurted, tears streaming thickly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—"_

 _"Save it," the older girl said bitterly, her voice dripping with contempt and loathing. "Fly away and never let me see you again, or the next time, I swear I will kill you. I swear on her dead body I will kill you." Her hands shook with fury._

 _"But I—"_

 _"No! Go, or I will kill you here and now."_

 _He looked at her with tears still in his eyes, and gave the girl one last look. He tried to make a move towards the body on the ground, but she flung herself over the body and screamed at him to leave, to leave while she was merciful enough to spare his life._

 _And then he went, pink wings fluttering brokenly behind him. There was nothing left to do but cry. So she did. Not giving a damn about the blazing inferno behind her or the jaws of Death looming before her, she laid down by her sister's body and wept uncontrollably. Her mourning was short lived though—a blast of flame hit so close to her, the hem of her shirt caught fire._

 _The dragon was looming right above her now, staring at her with hunger in its glowing eyes, rearing its head back for the kill._

 _I'll come back for you, she promised as she ran from the flame. The last thing she heard was a great shrieking roar from the monster, combined with her own tortured screams._

* * *

Sabrina Grimm's startlingly blue eyes flew open, her heart beating a harsh tattoo against her throat as she woke up from the same recurring nightmare. Dim lights from lamps shone weakly through the suffocating darkness, and she stumbled around, looking for a glass of water to soothe her trembling nerves. With shaking hands, she poured herself some water and drank, the cup clacking against her teeth. She set it down firmly and held onto the table for support, letting the last horrors of her nightmare, the last hot breath of the dragon dissipate into the cold New York air. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and she fought to suppress the dry sobs that were choking her.

After the war, she had run away from Ferryport Landing, away to a deserted little clearing on the outskirts of Manhattan, near the slums where the gangs and the criminals stayed. She did not socialize with them much, but kept to herself, in her little shack that was enchanted to keep prying eyes away from her hiding place. For weeks, she did nothing but huddle on the tiny cot that she had crudely fashioned from pine needles stuffed in coarse burlap bags and rock back and forth, crying over the loss of her family.

She'd lost everything in the war except one thing. Her sneakiness. Fueled with the volatile rage of losing loved ones, she buried her sorrows deep in her work, and buried them well. She was known throughout the underworld circles as the best thief in the business, and she wore that illegal crown proudly. Someday, she vowed, she'd avenge the deaths of all those who had been killed in the war. But she wasn't there yet. Yet.

Sabrina's frazzled nerves were finally beginning to calm themselves, and she briefly checked the waterproof watch on her wrist. 8:17. She had agreed to meet with a Mr. Hal Preston, a multimillionaire, the owner of Preston Labs Inc., a company that developed explosives, at 8:45. He had promised it was a mission worth her time, to which she curtly responded, "It better be."

So she pulled on her long coat and shoes, locked the door behind her, and set out to find Hal Preston.

He had asked her to meet him at his private offices, and gave her directions to get there. She took the way around the alleys, passing mobsters and gangs that were obscured behind clouds of cigarette smoke. She may have been a criminal, one of them, but she was classier than smoking behind New York alleyways. She ducked around some drunks, wove through the sleeping homeless, and stepped over all matter of filth and garbage before arriving at the office that Preston had described.

It was not particularly large or ostentatious, but it was sleek and classic. She was about to raise her hand and knock on the door, but it swung open before she could touch it and a man stood in the doorway, gazing coldly at her. He wordlessly ushered her into his house, soundlessly shutting the door behind them.

The room was cleanly painted in white, and scattered about were pieces of dark cherry furniture and a few potted plants. The man, whom Sabrina assumed was Preston, strode past her and pulled out a chair for her. He extended his hand, and she took it cautiously.

"Hal Preston," he said in a cool, clipped, professional tone of voice. He kissed her hand formally. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Grimm. I've heard a lot about you. Please have a seat."

"The pleasure is mine," she replied politely. She sat in the cushioned cherry seat and surveyed her surroundings. Doors, windows, cracks in the roof; escape routes. She looked at the modern art that decked the walls, thinking secretly that they might hide a safe behind their canvases, cliché as that was.

"May I offer you coffee?" Preston asked, pouring a coffee into a small cup on a saucer, and pushing towards her a tiny pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.

"Thank you," she said, pouring in a little cream and adding in two sugar cubes, and wrapped her cold hands around the ceramic. She clenched her teeth and pretended to take a sip, but she knew better; never consume anything a stranger offers you.

"Suspected I've poisoned it, have you?" Preston took a gulp of his coffee, pure and black like the night. Sabrina abruptly set down the cup, wondering in alarm how he could have noticed; a smirk was playing at the corners of his lips. "You clench your jaw quite tightly for someone who is supposedly just having a drink of coffee, Miss Grimm."

Sabrina took a good, long look at Preston from her seat across the table. He was astonishingly young to be a multimillionaire, almost her own age; twenty-three. He sported a clean, side swept cut of rich auburn hair, dark green eyes, and a sharp nose and jawline. He was long and lean, and wore a perpetually cool gaze that betrayed no emotion. His posture was impeccable, and his movements were fluid and graceful.

"I suppose you are an observant person, Mr. Preston," Sabrina said coolly.

"Quite," he agreed, gently setting down his cup on his saucer after taking a sip. "I assure you I have no intentions of poisoning the woman that I hired out, as that rather defeats the purpose of it. However, I have little time—and patience, I must admit—for formalities such as small talk and trifles that would befit an otherwise generous and courteous host such as myself. Shall I simply, ah, cut to the chase, Miss Grimm?" She nodded.

Preston took out a thick golden brown folder stuffed with papers. "I have taken the liberty of compiling some information on the person at the core of your mission," he said smoothly, sliding the folder over the table to Sabrina, who took it in her hands and felt its weight. She bent the metal clasps and slid out the stack of papers, picking up the first one on top.

"Are you familiar with a man by the name of Robin Goodfellow, Miss Grimm?" Preston asked quietly.

Hot bolts of electricity arced through her veins when Preston said his name. Sabrina's blood was boiling and her hands formed tight fists below the table, but she managed to choke out a "Yes" through clenched teeth.

"You are aware, then, that he runs a rival explosives company, I presume?" he continued. His fingers were idly drumming on the surface of the cherry table.

"I did not know that." Sabrina's brows furrowed. A rival explosives company?

"A firm called Explodieren, which is…German, I believe, for the word explode. Rather unoriginal for marketing to the public, but that is beside the point, and who am I to judge?" Preston replied.

Sabrina rifled through the rest of the papers. On one of them was the details of Goodfellow's headquarters, conveniently located in New York. Sabrina frowned again. How could she have not noticed his headquarters if it was in New York, where she resided as well? Maybe his headquarters used to be somewhere far away, and then he moved it back to New York? Flipping through some more pages, she realized how ridiculously intricate the security system was, sophisticated DNA scans, guards at every possible entrance, and every piece of high tech security gadget was in her way. Preston was right; accepting the mission would be a challenge worth her time. But so far, she had never lost.

"His company is the only one turning more of a profit than mine," Preston said, with more than a hint of frustration and bitterness. "Your mission, assuming you accept, is to find any new plans for business, steal them, and bring them back to me."

Icy silence stole over the room. It was just Preston staring calculatingly at Sabrina and her staring back at Preston with shrewd, careful eyes.

"And for how much?" Sabrina finally asked.

Preston licked his lips carefully. They both knew that Sabrina Grimm was the best at what she did, and that was exactly why Preston had hired her in the first place. He had to be careful with her; she was crafty, clever, and persistent. "Five hundred grand," he said finally, drawing a deep breath as his green eyes pierced her blue ones.

Sabrina stared at Preston. Five hundred grand for a couple of plans, he offered. Five hundred grand. That was a lot of money. She milked the moment, pretending to be in deep thought. It had been so, so long since she had made use of her talents—illegal talents, for sure—and although she was trying to lie low, the prospect of going back to her old roots thrilled her too much.

Think, the logical part of her brain screamed. If you get caught, you will let her murderer escape unscathed.

But I won't get caught, another part of her brain said confidently.

Sabrina clenched her teeth again, and tried to keep the heat from rising in her cheeks as Preston noticed this little quirk yet again and treated her to another infuriatingly smug smirk.

Don't do it, don't do it, it chanted. Don't do it.

And although she found her voice of logic begging her to refuse his offer, her soft pink lips parted in an almost sinister grin and said—

"You have a deal, Mr. Preston."

* * *

 **A/N: Hello everyone, thank you for reading! As you might already know, I'm Annie and I write a fair bit for the Sisters Grimm fandom. Some of my other works include Four Years After, Starlight, and Reminders, so if you've read any of those, yup, it's me. I hope you liked this first chapter; I experimented with writing about some grittier themes rather than the lightness I usually tend to stick to and found that I actually quite like it. So yes, please go check out some of my other works, and leave a review! Should I stick to light writing, do you like this style and want to see more, or am I dreadful enough that you want me kicked off this site (lol)?**

 **Also, if anyone would like to beta for this story, Four Years After, or any of my oneshots, please please PLEASE PM me, as I am in desperate need of another pair of eyes to glance over my work.**

 **Hasta la vista, and don't forget to leave a review, follow, or favorite!**


	2. Don't Screw Up Now

Preston's features rearranged themselves in a cold smile that did not meet his eyes. "Very well then, Miss Grimm." He extended his hand and Sabrina shook it stiffly. "I expect you to report back here in a few days' time."

Sabrina nodded curtly. She took one last look at his dark auburn hair, feeling that it was a familiar red shade that she knew, but could not place. His cool eyes bore into her back as she quietly slipped out the door and melted into the shadows surrounding the building. Preston was not particularly…unnerving, but he had a sort of coldness to his aura that was definitely unsettling to Sabrina. He was so frigid. Polite, but frigid.

The wind started to blow, and Sabrina tightened her trench coat around her. The mud squelched under her shoes, and the dank, wet smell of rain on asphalt floated into her nose. It was not a pleasant night to be walking in New York.

Loud, coarse voices called out to her in drunken song, intoxicated men reeling towards her unsteadily, with bottles of beer clutched tightly in their heavily ringed fingers.

"Ey, sugar," one of them leered. "Pretty little thing, aren't you? Your boyfriend dress you up? Your rich little boyfriend? Ditch 'im and have a beer with us, ah?" He staggered towards Sabrina. She moved out of the reach of his filthy hands. He pitched forward violently, slopping some beer on her coat. She quickly rabbit punched him in the neck and kept walking home, despite the oohing and catcalling from the rest of the drunks behind her. Several scathing remarks were on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back.

The shack was quiet as she unlocked the door. It felt lonelier than usual, she thought, looking sadly at the framed pictures of her old family. Old family? The thought struck her suddenly. Did she really have no family left, or was it just that her family was…well, dead? She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and gingerly took out the thick pile of papers that she had gotten from Preston, still trying to figure out how a figure as despicable as Robin Goodfellow could have ever waltzed into New York, her _hometown_ , right under her nose.

The reams of paper were quiet beneath her fingertips as she rifled through them. Piles of information, data, statistics, whereabouts…It would take a good deal of time to get through all of it. There was a newspaper clipping on one of them, featuring the blonde that nobody knew was a murderer. He was still boyishly handsome, with his twinkling green eyes and lopsided grin that Sabrina once found attractive. Now, it was a mocking leer. She sighed. Now was not the time to be meandering down nostalgia lane. He was a murderer, for fuck's sake.

Her tiny looking shack was not actually tiny. In fact, it was enormous. She had used a bit of magic to create underground rooms beneath the dirt floor, and a smooth hatch led from the top floor to the bottom rooms. In the lower rooms, she kept all her equipment and regularly tested them. They were beautiful, meticulously designed by a few talented criminal friends, and had proved incredibly useful on her missions. Sabrina lifted the hatch soundlessly and slipped under it, holding the Wand of Merlin close to her. Its familiar magical buzz gave her a sense of calmness and relief, power and bravery. She was invincible with it. Without it—well, Sabrina had never given much thought to what would happen to her without it. She'd be too smart to let it out of her reach, or her sight.

Her rooms belowground comprised of her equipment and her other stationary technology, like her laptop. It was her pride and joy, for she had made it herself, safe from detection by government satellites, both Everafter and human government. She had worked in incredibly complex codes and encryptions, which only she alone knew how to break.

All her equipment lay before her in all its shiny, futuristic glory. Helmets, gloves, footwear, masks, suits; all at her disposal. She ran a finger lovingly over one of the helmets, one of her personal favorites with an infrared visor and constant checks on her vitals. And her gloves, the beautiful, second-skin like gloves that she never went on a mission without. But she was dawdling, and on something she really shouldn't be dawdling on.

She recalled Preston's notes on Goodfellow. DNA sensors, that would be difficult. So it eliminated entry via the front door, an obvious choice, really. The building was nearly fifty stories, and she had no way of getting to the top, and even so, there were guards on the top. He really had thought of everything, Sabrina thought bitterly. And she was willing to guess that he had sneakily imbued magical protection on the building as well. She'd have to see in the morning, but she was almost certain of it.

A quiet beep alerted her that it was nearly midnight. She sighed, climbed back up the hatch to her bed, which had always been cold and incredibly lonely since Daphne wasn't there to help keep the sheets warm and the monsters at bay. She gave one last glance at the picture on her nightstand, its glass cracked but still showcasing the beauty beneath it. The two smiling girls, one blonde and one brunette, hugging each other.

Freezing pain stabbed Sabrina every time she looked at it, so she stopped. But before her head crashed onto her pillow, she whispered, "It'll all be over soon. I promise, I'll make everything better."

Her sleep was fraught with dragons and blood, like always.

* * *

The weather the next evening was cold and bright, a thin layer of frost coating the trees and bushes. Sabrina blearily opened her eyes, shivering beneath the thinness of her old flannel pajamas and feeling the cold floorboards beneath her feet. She pulled on her robe, brushed her hair, and made a pot of strong coffee. She found that she still disliked the taste, even with sugar, but was necessary to keep awake. She missed Jake, who introduced her to the drink.

After poring over the details of Goodfellow's headquarters some more, Sabrina decided it was high time to pay a visit and look for details herself.

Quietly padding down to her equipment room, she slipped into her thermal cat suit and matching mask and flexed her slightly unused muscles. The material allowed her to move soundlessly and still allowed her to move comfortably and flexibly. It was also matte, which made sure that the shine would not betray her whereabouts to others. The rest of her ensemble included hi-tech sunglasses with the ability to see through solid objects, sturdy rubber-soled boots, and of course, her skintight gloves. Perfect. She felt like herself again, in the smooth, tight spy garments that suited her so well. Tucking the Wand of Merlin in her boots, she opened the door to a blast of icy air and walked out without a sound.

The air was still slightly humid from the rain the night before and small puddles were still scattered around the sidewalk. Sabrina's glasses showed her surroundings in better lighting, while still remaining inconspicuous. "Left…straight…left…right." And she saw it. Explodieren, Goodfellow and Co. The fact that the stupid thing was in _German_ , her grandmother's native language, only incensed Sabrina more.

A short tunnel led to the building, and it was in there that Sabrina chose to hide, despite its dank, mildew scent and slimy green fungal growth.

Melting into the shadows, she crept closer with her back to the wall so she could get a better look. A tall, wrought iron gate surrounded the entire building, and guards marched solidly around the building and the gate itself. Though Sabrina was well trained in martial arts, boxing, and wrestling, the men guarding them were enormously muscular and outnumbered her severely, so to try and get too close was suicidal. She was only there to take a look at the building anyway.

It was as Preston had described it. Tall, with amazingly intricate security, and actually presenting a challenge to Sabrina. With a start, she realized that she knew one of Goodfellow's security guards, a particularly burly man in his late thirties called Stuart Hendrickson. Stuart was one of the more…moral criminals skulking around the slums of New York, always the more hesitant one for heists and break-ins. He was considered a weakling by the majority of the criminals, always taunted and teased for his lack of immorality. Sabrina frowned. What did Stuart want that Goodfellow could give him? She brushed the thought aside.

From the corner of her sunglasses, Sabrina noticed that it was 9 o'clock. One of the guards lifted a primitive-looking walkie talkie to his lips and muttered something incoherent, and the device concealed his mouth so she could not lip read. Clever. Typical of Goodfellow and his stringent security procedures. He'd once hidden a chainsaw in his room, so paranoid was he of invaders and robbers.

She cautiously took a step forward, careful to not step in the puddles. The guards were switching shifts, she realized. She saw one of them, a lanky, rat-faced guard pull a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. She wrinkled her nose. Disgusting.

"'Sa good night fern a smoke, innit?" he called out, his voice thick with an accent Sabrina could not place. Mixed, perhaps. He was walking towards the tunnel, towards Sabrina's hiding place where she was smashed up against the walls. She sucked in her breath and slowly inched backwards. Maybe if she went fast enough, he would not notice anything.

Thank God these boots don't make a sound, Sabrina thought, relieved. She was almost halfway out the end of the tunnel when she realized that the man with the accent had brought a couple of his other ugly, jeering friends.

They were coming her way. She moved as fast as she dared, not wanting to rely on the Wand of Merlin to help her. They were no match for her, but still.

The rustle of cardboard indicated that someone had opened the package of cigarettes and was doling them out to the guards. Almost there, Sabrina thought, almost feeling the cold edge of the tunnel exit.

"Crazy, these shifts, innit Stu?" the accented man asked lazily. "Goodfellow's lost his mind; who he's thinking is gonna brick into this place?"

"Dunno," Stuart's deep voice grunted. He was as meek and timid (in criminal standards) as Sabrina remembered him. Her sensitive gloved hands found the edge of the tunnel and she smiled. Perfect, don't screw up now. She laughed internally. She never screwed up.

Someone procured a lighter and lit the round of cigarettes, illuminating their ghostly, pallid faces. "Hey," Stuart said suddenly. "You see that? There, by the corner?"

Sabrina tried to ignore it. Almost. Almost.

"Lord be praised," the accented man said, a cruel grin lighting up his features. "We's got ourselves an actual case on our's hands."

"Don't move!" someone else bellowed. The familiar clicking of guns reached Sabrina's ears. "You've got eleven guns trained on you and there's plenty more just waiting!" She could hear the other guards marching towards her and before she could do anything, cold metal was pressed to her temple.

"We's got you good," an accented drawl whispered. "And you knows it."

 _Shit_.

* * *

 **A/N: Ahh, here I go again with the cliffhangers. This is really getting to be a problem, isn't it? If you've read my other story, you would probably agree (shameless self promotion right here). Looks like Sabrina's finally gotten a little bit too cocky, hmm? Will she escape the accented man? And what's the deal with Stuart and the man with the accent? When does Goodfellow appear? And who is the person that Sabrina gets into an 'impossible relationship' with? I do, but I'm not caring enough to share it with you just yet. Muahahaha. I'm a jerk.**

 **As always, thanks for reading. Remember to follow and favorite this story, and leave a review please!**


	3. Toys and Games

Rivulets of sweat dripped into Sabrina's eyes. _Shit, shit, shit_. How could she be so goddamn _stupid_? She was the best criminal in New York, in America, in the world, maybe, and she had gotten caught by a motley group of pansy guards with less than a quarter of her training.

"Aye, Shark, don't be too rough with her, you hear?" one of the guards called out. "I like my meat fresh." The rest of them laughed coarsely, and the accented man, Shark, exhaled noisily in Sabrina's face. She was itching to use the Wand of Merlin, but she didn't have any forgetful dust on her.

"Well, well, well," Shark breathed, a coated tongue smelling of alcohol and cigarette smoke licking his lips hungrily. His eyes were wildly insane. "Isn't _you_ just the prettiest little thing we's seen come round these parts of town?"

Sabrina bristled, her face flushing with anger at the remarks. She resisted the urge to spit in his face, because that would surely seal her doom.

Shark pulled a knife, a paper thin piece of metal, from his belt and held it in his right hand, his left hand still holding his gun to Sabrina's forehead. He ran the knife on the outline of her cheekbones and her lips, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine. "She's young too, bout twenty-five, she looks it. Zander, dincha say your girl left your ass for a boy prettier'n you? Soon as I's done with this one, thinks you can have a bit of fun with her before we's gotta turn her in to the boss."

Zander strode over to Sabrina and shone a harsh white light into her face, making her wince slightly. His eyes flickered down to her chest and back to her face, a cold grin lighting up his rough features. "Decent," he pronounced her. "A little Botox wouldn't hurt. Course, 'Vannie had real nice ones, not to mention the bits further south." He chuckled at his ribald comments, and the rest of the men laughed raucously. "Wasn't a bad kisser either, but when you think about all the places that filthy mouth has been, little whore…" They laughed again, great pealing laughter that incensed Sabrina.

"But of course," he continued, still tracing the knife teasingly around her face, "who am I to turn away a nice, soft little thing like yourself, hmm, girlie? We haven't played with a toy this nice in a long time."

Her muscles were tense and knotted in her neck and shoulders, and she was practically quivering with rage. All her life, she had been objectified, even as a little girl, but this was taking it to a whole new level.

"Zander, quit your dawdling," hollered one of the men. Zander grinned, his muscles relaxing for just a second. "Have your fun and then share your toys."

She could momentarily feel the gun being lifted away from her temple, and then she ran, and ran like hell. She could hear the enraged roars of the men behind her, but God, thank God, her suit was bulletproof; she'd have to thank Cecilia for that. She was mostly blind, but she had a way with fabric that currently was saving Sabrina's life.

"Where the hell did that little bitch go?" Shark snarled. He gripped the gun barrel tightly, clenching it till his knuckles turned pale. He swore.

Piercing gunshots ripped through the air at Sabrina's head, and one of them clipped the bark off a nearby tree. Her breath hitched in her lungs, but she kept running. Nimbly scaling a tall tree, she waited, crouched behind the branches, trying to ease her panting into quiet breaths.

"Hell," Zander swore, "she can't be anywhere far, and the boss'll be right pissed if we don't catch the little wench. Spread out! Two mile radius, and _look everywhere_. Trees and bushes included, you numbskulls."

Sabrina's breath caught. _Shit, the trees_. She'd have to move out as silently or as invisibly as possible. Truth be told, her escape skills were getting rusty, considering the fact that she had never had so formidable an opponent in a while, or done anything illegal in a while, really. She gripped the Wand of Merlin in her boots; wishing, praying, for some surge of power to calm her nerves. Wait. The wand.

"Gimme a diversion," she hissed, pointing the wand at Goodfellow's guards/henchmen.

"Hey," Zander shouted. "Shark, Stu, did you hear that? Coming from my left, sort of."

 _Dammit, they heard_ , Sabrina thought. She prayed to every deity she knew that the wand would work its magic and save her life.

Suddenly, the screaming started. High, keening sounds were elicited by unseen forces from the men's mouths, and their eyes were full of fear.

 _Huh. I didn't think that would work_ , Sabrina thought as she scrambled out of the tree and jumped to another one, and another, until she had sufficiently distanced herself from Goodfellow's guards and decided that it was safe to run on foot.

She slammed the door behind her as she ran into her house, breathing hard and fast. Thankfully, she hadn't lost anything; the Wand of Merlin was digging into her calf, but Zander's knife had left some cuts in her face that would need medicine. As if she hadn't been scarred enough.

She warmed up some of the cold coffee, her teeth chattering with fright and cold. It was nearly four in the morning. Sabrina wrapped her frozen hands around the burning heat of the mug, letting it thaw her insides as she sipped the bitter fire.

For a while, she lay shivering under her comforter, wide eyed and scanning the room for terrors she knew should not be there, but were. Shadows of brown braids. Flashes of green fabric. A sunflower appliqué, the swish of a many-pocketed coat. She looked up, almost hoping that she would see the meticulously crafted wooden airplanes, but of course, being disappointed.

The next night she woke up, there was a piece of paper under her door that was most definitely not there before. Terror gripped Sabrina as she picked it up with trembling fingers. Nobody should even know this house existed. Nobody. She unfolded it, and a few simple words were scrawled in a chillingly familiar handwriting.

 _It's on._

* * *

 **A/N: Short chapter, I know. I might be varying the lengths of the chapters a lot throughout the story, depending on how much I need my plot to advance at the moment. I just need to experiment with pacing and buildup and all that stuff. So I'm sorry if you expected more writing from me, please bear with me here.**

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 **pucksmine: Thank you so much!**

 **Sensitive kid: Aww, thank you, that really means a lot to me.**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading! Please follow and favorite this story, and remember to leave a review!**


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